


One Day at a Time

by agreatwave



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Canon Compliant, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Alternating, internalized ableism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29933166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agreatwave/pseuds/agreatwave
Summary: A snippet from each day of the week spanned by 3x10.or: Even and Isak take it minute by minute, then hour by hour, and eventually, day by day.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	One Day at a Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for the warm response to my first fic in the fandom, Somewhere Safe, Somewhere Warm! This story follows directly after it, but can definitely be read separately. I hope you enjoy!

**SATURDAY**

Waking up hurts. 

His limbs are heavy. His eyelids too. He clings to sleep, to quiet, comfortable darkness. The light is too bright. The pain is too sharp. The memories don’t trickle back slowly. They’re just there, blunt and unyielding, the moment he regains consciousness. The only thing waiting for him when he opens his eyes is humiliation, regret, and self-loathing.

Except.

Except today when he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is a blue striped bedspread that is not his. The second thing he sees are green eyes, soft and open and staring straight at him. 

Isak. Isak’s bed. Isak’s eyes. 

Isak came for him last night, and took him home. Even doesn’t know what that means.

Even looks away quickly. He doesn’t want to look at Isak and see his expression change. He didn’t want Isak to see him like this, ever. 

“Hi,” Isak says. 

Even doesn’t understand his voice. It’s not angry, but it’s not pitying either. It’s just . . . normal. Nothing about this is normal. Even is not normal.

“Hi,” he rasps back.

They’re the first words he’s said out loud in a long time, and his throat protests. Even rolls onto his back so he doesn’t have to face Isak. Doesn’t have to lie there looking at Isak like he did every time before, when Isak didn’t know and everything wasn’t ruined yet. Even’s eyes are so heavy, but they search the room for a clock. He has no idea where his phone is now, even though he remembers texting his parents, so it must be here somewhere. He can tell he’s slept for a long time, but time is hard to hang on to when he’s like this.

Isak says something, maybe asks him a question, but Even’s mind is stuck somewhere else.

“What time is it?” Even asks.

“Around half past ten, or something,” Isak answers, sounding unconcerned.

Even’s been here too long. He shouldn’t be here at all. Isak doesn’t need to deal with this. With Even. It would be so nice to stay here in this soft bed, and moving at all, let alone somehow getting from here to his parent’s place, feels so insurmountable he might as well climb Mt. Everest while he’s at it. But he can’t be here. He can’t ruin one more of Isak’s days.

“I should go,” Even barely manages to push out around the lump in his throat.

“Why?” Isak asks.

Simple, like he’s genuinely asking. Like it’s not obvious that Even is damaged and dangerous. Even doesn’t want to answer because it takes so much energy and his eyes are already wet and his throat hurts. But Isak asked him. So he’ll try.

“Because I don’t want you to lie here and feel like you have to look after me.”

He’s still not looking at Isak. He’s embarassed by how much he’s leaned on him already. Even is such a heavy weight to carry, a burden on everyone he knows. He shouldn’t have texted last night. He should leave now. He fights sleep again, even though he wants to let it win.

“I don’t feel like I’m looking after you,” Isak says.

Then, a moment later.

“And why . . . Why is that wrong?”

So sweet it hurts. Even’s eyes flutter and threaten to shut. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Even sighs. “I just don’t want you to lie here and feel sad.”

Even is a black hole. Or a dying star. Isak would know the difference, if there is one. Even pulls people into the dark with him.

“I’m not sad,” Isak whispers.

Even’s eyes prick with tears. When he’s like this, there doesn’t really have to be a reason for tears, but maybe this time there is one. Maybe it’s what Isak just said and the memory of saying it himself, what feels like forever ago, right before everything went wrong the first time. Maybe it’s that Isak was right that day, that he is better off without people like Even in his life. Maybe it’s what Even’s about to say and how much it will hurt. He gets lost for a while in the hopelessness of it all, in the keeping going when everything he touches breaks, in the horrible contrast between everything ugly about him and everything beautiful about Isak. Then he sighs again, pulling energy from an empty well, and speaks.

“I just know that this isn’t going to work.”

He can’t look at him.

“Why do you say that?” Isak asks.

He has to look at him. 

It’s easier now, because bitterness is seeping in, anger at himself and the world and his brain and the God he doesn’t even believe in but still bargains with sometimes.

“Because it’s true,” Even says, maybe a bit sharply.

He drops his eyes away, then dares to meet Isak’s again because Isak needs to understand.

“I’m just going to hurt you. And then you’ll hate me.”

Selfishly, he doesn’t know what he’s more afraid of: hurting Isak (he already has) or Isak hating him (if he doesn’t yet, he will). Both are inevitable. He’s read through the message boards, seen comment after comment from people who tried to love people like him. People whose lives were ruined, who wish they’d never met their spouses, who resent their entire lives together. All people like Even know how to do is destroy. No matter how hard he tries not to and no matter how much he tries to create, it will never balance out.

At least Even’s said it now. The next step will be getting up, then getting dressed, then finding a way home.

“No.”

Even’s turns his head quickly, surprised; Isak’s voice is louder than it’s been all morning and unexpectedly vehement.

“You don’t know shit about how this is going to end. Maybe we’ll get a nuke dropped on us tomorrow and then this is just a waste of time to discuss,” Isak says, his brow furrowed, fiery eyes boring into Even’s. 

“So I suggest that you just stop talking about the future and then the two of us will take this thing completely chill.”

It sounds so good, like everything Even wants, but knows he can’t have. Even doesn’t know what to say back, but he doesn’t have to figure it out because Isak is speaking again.

“Let’s play a game. It goes like this,” Isak continues. “It’s called: Isak and Even, minute by minute. It . . .”  
Isak raises a hand and brings it to cradle Even’s face. Even clenches his jaw against the wave of feeling that swells in his chest with Isak’s touch, the way it soothes and hurts. Isak starts stroking Even’s hair just behind his ear.

“It’s about that the only thing we need to worry about is the next minute.”

Isak’s thumb skates over his temple and the tender gesture threatens to overwhelm him. A realization is beginning to sink in, hard to grasp at first through the heavy, dark fog in Even’s mind, but getting clearer the more Isak talks: what’s happening right now is that Isak is fighting for him. For them.

“Are you in?”

And maybe Even should say no, but he doesn’t know how anymore, not with Isak so close and touching him and saying their names together again like they belong that way. There’s a tiny voice in his head, quiet and barely there, that’s saying that maybe Even is wrong and Isak is right. He wants Isak to be right. He wants to stay.

“Okay,” Even whispers.

A surrender. Or a leap of faith. Or both.

Isak’s eyes are so soft. Even keeps his eyes locked on them, scared that if he looks away for a second he’ll stop believing the things he thinks he sees in them.

“What are we going to do this minute?” He asks, because he wants Isak to keep talking.

“This minute we’ll kiss,” Isak says immediately, matter-of-factly.

Impossibly, Even smiles. It’s small and tired. But it’s real. 

“That’s chill,” he says.

“That’s chill?” Isak repeats, a ghost of their normal banter.

“That’s chill,” Even confirms on a whisper.

And then, a kiss. Safe and warm, with Even still wrapped up in Isak’s blankets and his head still cradled in Isak’s palm. Isak doesn’t seem to mind that Even can barely find the energy to kiss back. His kisses are sweet and unhurried and reassuring. Even’s practically drifting off into them. Sleep is pulling at him again, and Isak lets him go, rubbing his nose over the bridge of Even’s, keeping him close and held.

Even sleeps for most of the day’s minutes.

He wakes up now and then, and Isak is always there. Every minute.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, as always, to Skam English for the English canon dialogue <3


End file.
